Gemotions

The afternoon light streamed through the large window of Amelia's art studio, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. She sat at her easel, brush in hand, staring at the canvas before her. The colors, a riot of blues and greens, were slowly coalescing into a landscape, a peaceful retreat. The scent of turpentine and oil paint filled the room, a familiar and welcome aroma. Her phone vibrated on the table, a discordant note in the otherwise harmonious scene. It was her uncle, Robert.

“Amelia, darling, could you come by this afternoon? It’s urgent.” His message was unusually curt.

Amelia set down her brush and wiped her hands on a cloth, a sigh escaping her. She’d go, hear what he had to say, and then she’d get back to her painting.